


The Birch Tree

by Schemilix



Series: Blood and Gold [4]
Category: Final Fantasy Tactics
Genre: Childhood, Coming-of-age, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schemilix/pseuds/Schemilix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once we ran free - free as a bird with a knot about her leg. Once we were innocent. Once Mother was with us, and Father loved us. Once we were humans, and not Knights, and not monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Birch Tree

**Author's Note:**

> I always thought that, raised as they were, Meliadoul and Izlude would see all three of the elder Templars as family, blood-relatives or not. And they were children once, even if they lost their innocence earlier than they should have. The daughter of a Templar can’t be her father’s little girl forever.
> 
> And even grumpy old Templars get awkward about ‘woman things’.

They run free through the cathedral grounds, a forest left untamed in the name of the Gods. Through their will spring up bushes that sag with berries, nettles that offer challenge, trees fallen half over lapping brooks and brooding ponds. 

They are strong in the way of playful children, they climb as easily as cats without fear. She, taller, will drop down apples for her brother, sometimes on his head. 

They play alone, despite the risk of goblins and feral chocobos. Not because their guardians are negligent, no, at least not intentionally. A brother and sister can be as sneaky as rats when bored. 

There’s a tasking in this, no doubt. Young Templars-to-be can’t go around endangering their lives before the Holy See has use of it. But the fresh air, the crackling of old wood, the taste of the red fruits - they’re worth it. Weeks spent inside with naught but the smell of myrrh and leather oil are a tasking in themselves. 

”Izlude! Badger! Leave him alone or he’ll be cross!” 

\----------------

Even foolish children know not to play in the woods at dusk. Meliadoul cajoles her brother back, who is a child more than foolish, and is reluctant to return. It is Loffrey’s arm that finds her shoulder, and his eyebrow that raises in consternation at her behaviour.

”You ought to know better than that, little one,” he chides, and leans to take Izlude’s wrist as the boy makes to run. 

”I found them, Fendsor! You can stop fretting.”

”Where they always were, aye?” 

Izlude looks most abashed when the older Templar limps into view. Meliadoul smiles at him sweetly. Barich is the softest of the Templars, the one to have known them since they were still in their mother’s belly. His concern is far worse punishment than anything their father can think of. 

”If you grow so bored with your lessons, girl, you’re getting old enough to train with the blade.”

Meliadoul beams as much as Izlude ducks. 

”Please!” she crows.

Loffrey frowns. “Not what I expected. Bed, Izlude.”

”But - “

”Yes, and Meliadoul is older than you. Get to bed,” Barich interrupts. With a growl that is a higher pitched mockery of his father’s, he stalks away. Loffrey looks at Barich with a mixture of gratitude and annoyance.

”He always listens to you.”

”I listen to you, Loffrey!” Meliadoul says with a grin. He cuffs her around the ear, but nonetheless looks placated. 

”You do? Then go to your Father. He was worried about you.”

Meliadoul doubts it. But she sighs and heads inside all the same, brushing some crumbles leaves from her shirt as she does.

\---------------

“Damn girl, but you have your mother’s untameable hair.”

“Ow! That hurts!”

“Of course it hurts! You expect to go traipsing through that wildland and not have hair like a briar?”

“I’m fourteen, I can brush my own hair!”

“You haven’t seen it. Stop fussing!”

Another snag, making Meliadoul shout.

“Ow, Gods! You’re doing it on purpose! I shall cut it short!”

She hears Vormav hiss through his teeth. “Drastic, isn’t it?” 

Suddenly Meliadoul remembers how her father would play with her long hair until she fell asleep on him. Solid as the boughs of an old tree… But he doesn’t do that any more. 

“If I am to follow you, and be a Templar, long hair would only interfere,” she says, curtly.

“Who have you been talking to?”

Meliadoul takes her hair and starts combing out the tangles one by one. When she speaks, she tries to sound nonchalant. 

”No-one. Not about that. Loffrey said I should start training properly, if I get so bored.”

At that, Vormav looks up at the door, as if to burst through it and chase the hooded Templar down. When he tenses she half expects him to, but then he shakes his head.

”He’s right.” Loffrey is usually right. Vormav considers that a personal failing of his. “Aptitude with the godswords run in the blood, and come out as the body matures.”

”You mean, it may have quickened because I am blooded?

Vormav frowns, looking awkward. The men of the Templarate seem most discomforted by the thought. It isn’t they who have to deal with the unpleasantness. Meliadoul fails to understand their problem.

”Yes - that,” Vormav grunts. “By any means, you can be tested.”

At that she nearly claps, but that is a thing girls do, not knights. Instead she nods solemnly. 

”Then I will cut my hair tomorrow, Father.”

Vormav sighs. “We may as well do it now. No sense in taming that mess now.” 

”Um - “

”I can cut hair just fine, girl,” he says, forestalling her concerns. Not quite trusting him, she stays put anyway. He cuts it shorter than Barich’s; Vormav is always complaining about how his hair is too long for a Knight. Closer to his own length. A touch longer, maybe, but not much.

“You’re not a little girl any more, are you, Meliadoul?” Vormav sounds sad. Meliadoul runs her hair through her short crop of hair, looking in the mirror. She looks older for it. The mud on her knees from her play in the woods seems out of place.

”No,” Meliadoul replies. There isn’t much else she can say.


End file.
